


Neither A Guest Nor A Trespasser Be

by Riftwalker



Series: Aban Aqun [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Trespasser
Genre: F/M, Other, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Trespasser Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5028571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riftwalker/pseuds/Riftwalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most of Skyhold left for the Exalted Council. Most of it.</p><p>This is the story of those left behind, and what happens when the little people suddenly find themselves in charge.</p><p> </p><p>(Post Dragon-Age Inquistion, sequel to Our Daily Bread)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ebost

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel to Our Daily Bread. I'd highly recommend giving that one a read before jumping into this one, since there's character crossover going on.
> 
> While playing Trespasser, I found myself wondering how everyone who hadn't gone to the Exalted Council was getting on in Skyhold, and then decided maybe I should just...you know, write about it instead of thinking. Because everyone deserves a good ending, don't they?

Lillian Rose Sumner wasn’t a warrior by any means, and certainly never had the audacity to suggest as much, far more adept with flour and dough. This was a relief to the residents of Skyhold, as anything else would mean that they’d suddenly have far fewer pastries to stuff themselves with in the mornings. But just because she wasn’t a warrior, it didn’t mean she wasn’t a fighter, the Iron Bull had told her – which was why she was presently staring down a target in the courtyard, arrow pulled tight against bowstring, and hoping fervently that it didn’t suddenly snap back in her face.

“Elbow up,” came a quiet voice from behind her.

“I know,” she replied. And she did know, she’d just forgotten in the midst of all the other things one had to remember when one was shooting a bow. Eyes open and on the target, he said. Keep the arrow level, look down it to sight the target, don’t pull too tight, finger under your chin, string on your nose and lips, keep your shoulders canted _just_ so and yes, of course, elbow _up_. So she raised her elbow, resisting the urge to frown, and finally let the thing fly.

It hit the target with a soft thunk. It was also nowhere near the center. “Bull,” Lily asked, her tone sweetly dangerous, “Why am I doing this again, exactly?”

“Because.” he replied, marvelously unhelpful.

“Bull,” Lily repeated, the sweet tone elevating just a touch.

“Look, you hit the target,” Bull pointed out.

“I hit the edge of it. It’s possible I hurt its feelings. It might want to go and have a good cry later on. With its friends. Over _drinks_.”

“Lily,” he said, his shadow looming over her, one hand resting on her shoulder, “You did fine. Little more practice and you’ll be–“

“A baker.” she said, lowering the bow. “I’ll be a baker, on account of that’s what I do best, with a little more cooking on the side on account of Helena’s awfully nice and trading me recipes.”

“Her bread still isn’t as good as yours.”

“She hasn’t been making it as long as I have.”

“Then what you’re saying,” Bull countered, eyeing the sky with feigned innocence, “Is that she just needs more practice?”

Lily glowered up at him, but couldn’t really argue with his point. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Does it really need an answer?” he asked, looking down at her with a gentle smile, one that quietly faded in light of her careful and studied consideration.

It wasn’t that he was trying to teach her to shoot a bow that bothered her, not really. After all, it was something to do between shifts at the tavern, Lily reasoned, and it was entertaining enough. No, it wasn’t that he wanted her to shoot a bow. It was that he’d waited until he and the Chargers had returned from their last mission well over a month ago to mention it. It was that he was so studiously insistent about it, conveniently showing up nearly every day and jovially suggesting she come practice with him, and all the while carefully trying not to appear insistent at all. Which, in Lily’s mind, was suspicious as anything, and the way he was dodging questions with questions only drove the point home.

“You’re trying to Ben-Hassrath me,” she said quietly. “Don’t think I don’t see it.”

“Lily…”

“Don’t.” she firmly replied. “Don’t start. You _want_ me to do this. You said you’ve been wanting me to do this for months, and now you’ve seen me doing it for well over a month and I can barely hit a target and you’re still insisting I practice.” Lily glanced forlornly at the target, then back at Bull, brow furrowed. “Why is it so important tha…”

She trailed off, catching a glimpse of something in his eyes. “You’re worried,” she said finally, her voice soft. “Why are you worried?”

“Lily,” Bull repeated, heaving a heavy sigh, his shoulders drooping. Silently he stepped away, sank down on a nearby bale of hay, motioning for her to follow. “Sometimes I wish you didn’t see right through me.”

“Bull, what is it?” Lily didn’t bother sitting down, worrying her lower lip. “Did the qunari find out I’m here?”

To her relief, his eye immediately widened in surprise. “What? No! No, shit if they’d figured that out we wouldn’t be messing around with a bow, kadan.” Bull shifted on his seat, glancing across the courtyard, his eye narrowed as he watched the rest of Skyhold’s residents go about their day.

 

 

The usual hum and bustle of crowds at work had lessened somewhat over the last couple of months, dulling to a low murmur at best. But those that stayed were there because they believed in what the Inquisition stood for, whatever that happened to be at the time. Lily wasn’t quite sure what that was, nowadays. Now that the last of the rifts, as Bull had called them, were sealed.

Seven years of being largely caught in her head made her miss a lot of things. She suspected that missing a great hole in the sky and a flood of demons was probably in the long run a good thing to miss, all things considered. Varric had filled her in, when they returned to Skyhold, absolutely delighted to see her again.

And she was happy enough to see him too. He had stories – so many stories, so many tales to tell, tales of places near and far, and books for her to read. She thought she’d read them all. But late one evening, not more than a few months after she’d returned, he showed up at the Herald’s Rest with one last book in hand.

“Lily, sunshine…are you sure you don’t want to come back with me?” Varric asked, a look of faint hope in his eyes. She hated telling him no, the first time he asked – hated the look on his face, the crestfallen glint in his eyes when he reassured her it was all right if she stayed. The tavern had all but emptied out for the night, just a few stragglers remained in darkened corners, either too drunk or too lost in their own thoughts to think about heading home just yet.

And Lily looked at Varric, bit her lip and shook her head. “I…can’t, Varric. It’s not that I don’t want to, I just…I expect I’m needed more here, aren’t I? I mean, the Inquisition may be a bit smaller, but there’s still plenty of people to be fed.”

He hopped up on a stool, placing the book on the counter and folding his arms over it, watching her with quiet and level regard. “You staying for them, or are you staying for someone else?”

She felt just the smallest hint of heat in her cheeks and glanced away, suddenly very, very busy with cleaning nonexistent dust from the countertop. “I’d like to stay where I’m needed,” she repeated, firmly, doing an admirable job of hiding the quaver in her voice. It wasn’t a lie, she told herself, not at all a lie.

A warm hand covered her own and squeezed it, startling her into glancing up – right into Varric’s warm eyes, crinkled at the corners just so, a wry and teasing grin on his face. “It’s okay sweetheart. I just like to make sure my friends are taken care of.” He gave her hand a reassuring pat before returning it to the book, glancing down at the cover, the glint in his eyes fading to something she didn’t quite recognize. “You and everyone else. Look, just…if you run into any trouble, you know the dwarf to call. All right?”

“Do you have to go?” There was no hiding the break in her voice, this time, although she managed to stave off any tears. And for a moment, it almost looked as if he were trying to do the same. “Yeah, Lily. I have to. The city isn’t going to rebuild itself – shit, Bran’s way in over his head from what Bull told me. It might not be worth saving to some people, but it’s home. It deserves better than it got.”

Varric gave a soft, wistful little sigh, and then pushed the book towards her. “Here. Look, I wasn’t trying to hide this one from you. I just didn’t think you should read it. Tiny told me that was your choice to make, not mine. And if I’m not going to be here…well, I figured I’d leave the choice in your hands.”

 _The Tale of the Champion_ was emblazoned on the cover in bold letters. Lily flipped it open, intrigued, scanning the first few sentences before coming to a faltering stop.

“This is about Kirkwall,” she said softly, absently running a finger over a stylized illustration of Hawke. Suddenly hesitant, she glanced up. “Am … am I?” She couldn’t quite finish the question.

But she needn’t have worried. Varric threw up his hands. “No! _No_. Maker’s balls Lily, I wasn’t going to do that to you. Wait, I take that back – I think there’s a scene where we’re eating sweet rolls, but I didn’t mention where they were from. And that’s all, I swear. No names. Nothing about you and the q…and _them_. I _swear_.” He slid off the stool, gesturing at the book. “Look, I just…didn’t want to bring up any bad memories you might have lurking around in there, sunshine.” And he looked at her, really looked at her, and his eyes were sad. “But I didn’t tell you what was going on, back then. And maybe if—“

“It’s all right, Varric,” she told him, flashing him a smile for good measure, even if it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’d like to read it.” And she would. Perhaps not right now, she reasoned, but when she had the time.

He stared into her eyes for a moment or two more, quietly pondering one thing or another, then gave another little sigh, absently brushing off his shirt. “Good. Good. You uh…you take care of yourself for me, okay?”

“I will,” she replied as he turned to leave. “Wait, Varric– “

He probably wasn’t expecting a hug, she reckoned, either that or perhaps she was being just a tad too enthusiastic, judging from the startled puff of air. Regardless, he let her get away with it, lowering his arms to pat her reassuringly. Lily drew back, hands on his shoulders, and looked him right in the eye. “ _Thank you_ ,” she said, trying her very best to pour every last ounce of gratitude she could into those two little words. “For—“

Varric chucked a finger under her chin, grinning. “Don’t mention it, kid. I’ll see you around.”

Lily watched him go, a little part of her going right along with him. A little sad, perhaps, but also a little pleased, as she was fairly certain if anyone could make sense of Kirkwall,  he very well would.

 

 

“Things don’t stay the same forever, Lily.” Bull interrupted her train of thought, snaring her attention with a cant of his head and a glint of something unrecognizable in his eye.

“No, no they don’t.” She agreed absently, then paused as his words sank in, a faint flicker of apprehension curling in her belly. “You’re leaving, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question, not really, but to her faint relief he looked almost startled at the statement.

“What? Shit, no! I mean yeah. I mean…crap.” He deflated, giving another heavy sigh that did little to reassure her. “I don’t know. None of us know. You heard about the Exalted Council?”

Lily nodded, once – it wasn’t something she knew a lot about, but she’d heard more than one patron of the Herald’s Rest talking about it with faint, disquieting tones. Not a one of them had bothered explaining what it was, exactly, except that the Inquisitor had to go, and there were, apparently, an awful lot of people going with him. “You’re going too?”

“Yeah. Chargers too.”

“Then it seems to me you know that you’re leaving,” she pointed out with a small smile, one that Bull didn’t share. He looked away, off towards the great stone walls of the main part of the castle.

“It’s not that, Lily. It’s this whole Council thing. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but things have gotten kind of quiet around here. All those rifts I told you about – they’re gone now, right? Boss did his job, got it all cleaned up, and now the Divine and most of Thedas is wondering what exactly the Inquisition is going to do next.” Bull flicked a glance in her direction, clearly concerned. “Or whether there should even be an Inquisition anymore.”

There it was. “Oh,” she said, suddenly at a loss for words. It hadn’t quite been two years since Bull had done whatever he’d done, pulled her from where she’d hidden away back into a world she wasn’t quite prepared to face. And it had been a lovely not-quite-two years, full of getting to know new faces, and reuniting with old ones – Billy was there when they’d arrived, already made a little home out of the place, apprenticed to one of the Inquisition’s smiths, just like that.

There were others, so many others that filled Skyhold’s halls, filtered in and out of the Herald’s Rest every night. The Chargers were far more delighted with Bull’s return, paying her little heed until he’d introduced her, and treating her from then on with a rough sort of kindness they seemed to do for just about anyone who approached with a friendly smile.

He’d introduced her to the others, too, important people with important names and important titles, Commander and Spymaster and Ambassador and even Inquisitor, people who smiled kindly at her and then went back to the very important things that very important people do.

And then there were the ones who probably weren’t seen as important, but were the most important of all, she expected. There was Master Dennet, who dealt with all the Inquisition’s mounts and didn’t mind at all when she stopped by to give William treats every now and again. There was Cabot, who’d been brusque with her when she returned, but gave her her old job and while he complained about her singing, she’d caught him more than once tapping his foot along with the tune on early mornings when he thought she wasn’t looking. There was Liza and Elspeth and Dawn, the three other tavern girls, who squealed loud enough to warrant Cabot’s complaints when they'd caught sight of her, heaping praise and drinks on Bull in gratitude.

There was Jim and Jess, two guards who usually spent their days stationed high up on the walls of the castle, keeping watch over the castle by day and trading stories about Ferelden in the tavern most nights. There was Helena of course, who kept the kitchens in the main hall running like clockwork and really did just need a bit more practice to perfect the recipes Lily had shared, but didn’t seem to mind at all. Helena invited her to the kitchens at least twice a week, more if Lily could manage, to teach her own recipes, quietly exchanging conversations and stories while kneading bread into the wee hours, or going over which herbs went with which meat best.

And there was Harritt, who as it turned out didn’t live more than a few hours by horseback from where her family’s farm used to be when he was younger, although she didn’t tell him such. Instead, he asked her about Billy – probably at Varric’s insistence – and told her the lad was awfully good with forging, mentioning in passing that he might just have to steal him away as an apprentice of his own at some point. And Dagna, who was every bit as cheerful and sunny as Lily tried her best to be. She stopped in every now and again, taking time to tell Lily hello before heading upstairs to meet with an elf who’d made her home on the second floor. Sera was…caustic at first, not quite sure what to make of Lily, but after a warning look from Bull she’d settled down, and when she found out Lily made cookies that seemed to warm her almost immediately. At some point, Sera told her, when they had the time, she had to teach her how to make them. And Dagna too, although the dwarf didn’t seem to be quite as interested as the elf was.

And then there was Cole, who beamed and beamed when she’d walked through that door, glancing expectantly from her to Bull and back again. “I told you,” he said to Bull.

“Yeah,” Bull replied, glancing down at Lily with an absent smile. “You did.”

“You remember me, don’t you?” Cole asked her, and Lily faltered, not quite certain if she did. He looked familiar.

When she’d finally remembered, a few weeks later, she’d gone out of her way to take him a sweet roll.

So many people. So many people who worked very, very hard at keeping everything running and going while all the important people went and did the important things. Where, she wondered, trying to distract herself from the real question, would all of those people go?

And her mind wouldn’t let itself be distracted. Where would she go?

She’d avoided the question for so long, didn’t want to think about it at all, after all, she was happy enough where she was, everyone seemed to enjoy her company and that was quite enough for her, wasn’t it?

Bull kept his eyes on her, and she knew, she just knew he was probably reading every thought in her head, as he did. “You don’t have to make a decision right now,” he said, finally, hand coming to rest on her shoulder, “But you should probably think about it while we’re gone.”

“You’ll…you’ll be back, then?”

She didn’t really want to say goodbye. Not yet.

“Who, us? Of course we will. Council might decide we’re fine. Might ask us to stick around,” he grinned reassuringly. But his voice rang a little hollow, devoid of its usual bluster and bravado. “And if they don’t, hey, all of our stuff’s here. We’ll need to get it before moving on.”

Lily nodded, not quite able to speak. Bull slipped a finger under her chin, lifting her eyes to meet his. “Hey,” he said quietly. “It’ll be all right. You practice with that bow while I’m gone, okay? When I get back, I want to see that arrow dead center.”

“Why?” she asked, not quite sure she was going to like the answer.

"Because sometimes," he drawled, "The best way to protect someone is to teach them how to protect themselves."

Lily stared at him suspiciously, glancing down at the bow, then back up at him. "You've _been_ watching me practice, haven't you?"

He chuckled and gave her a lopsided grin, something hidden in the downturned corner just as it always was. “Kadan, you’re the sweetest little baker I know. And if I’m not around to protect you, then I want to make damn sure you can protect yourself just as good as I would. Or maybe even better. All right? So...practice. For me.”

She nodded again. “I will.”

 

 

They left three days later, all of them, all of the important people and most of the guards besides, Chargers and the Inquisitor’s inner circle of friends, those trusted with secrets, she supposed, though secrets really mattered very little to her. She watched them go, waving from the parapets along with all the other little people of the Inquisition who would, she was certain, keep everything running smoothly while the important people were away.

“Don’t worry,” came a voice from behind her, and she would’ve been startled if she hadn’t recognized it.

“Cole,” Lily said as she turned around, tucking stray wisps of hair behind her ears, “Shouldn’t you be out there with them?”

“I will. I am. But don’t worry. It won’t be as hard as you think. You help.” He gave her a shy smile. “It’s never too early for songbirds.”

“Thank you,” she replied, but he was already gone.

Late that night, when the already unusually quiet courtyard had gone completely silent, she sat up in her bed, reaching for a book she hadn’t quite managed to bring herself to look at, just yet. And in the silence of the waning evening, Lily began to read.

 

 


	2. Kadan

Lily wasn’t more than a chapter or two into the book before she fell asleep. And her dreams were of Kirkwall, for the first time since Bull had taken her there and back again. They weren’t bad dreams, not necessarily – but they were unsettling, as unsettling as the uneasy churn in the pit of her stomach whenever she thought about the possibility of the Inquisition suddenly vanishing due to the whims of whatever important people decided it needed to go.

But as for Skyhold, it remained in a hushed, quiet state, almost as if the castle and its residents were holding their breaths for a good two days. And on the third day, people began to talk again. A little at first, then louder, then louder still. They didn’t speak of Exalted Councils, or the Inquisition, or the Chantry at all. No, it was little conversations about places people had been, where they were from. Stories about how they’d grown up, their families and the people they’d encountered while out and about with the business of living their lives.

And there was something almost comforting in that. It was, Lily thought, as if everyone were simultaneously sorting out where they’d been in an effort to puzzle out where to go next. It was sensible, and Lily liked to think she was a sensible woman for the most part, despite her love of fairy stories and outlandish tales. So she sang and she baked and she sold plenty of bread to go with all of the ale everyone suddenly seemed interested in drinking, and over the next few weeks, she listened as best she could. Perhaps somewhere in the middle of it all, she could sort out where she was meant to go next, too.

“And here we are, middle of a war, and she’s running races. Races!” Dennet slapped the table, shaking his head, but he couldn’t quite hide the twinkle in his eye. “Bless her silly heart. I miss her. The wife too. Be good to get back again, tend to the farm.”

“All’s well then?” Harritt tilted his chair back, propping his feet on the table and earning himself a scowl from Cabot that he steadfastly ignored.

“Good as you’d expect. What with those blasted holes closed up, everything’s settling back into place. Nobody’s heard a peep from Redcliffe outside of normal trade and news. Only…” Dennet trailed off, great brows drawing together in a quiet frown. Harritt tipped back his tankard, wiping his mouth and clearly waiting for the horsemaster to continue. “Wondering, though. Can’t help but wonder. Plenty of steeds here now – if the place closes up, wonder if the Inquisitor’ll let me take them with. Not all of them, mind,” he hastily corrected, “—just the ones he doesn’t want for himself.”

Harritt nodded slowly, staring at his drink. “Can’t say I haven’t thought of that myself – plenty of good equipment here now, be a pity to leave it all behind, wouldn’t it?”

“You headed back to Ferelden too then, eh?”

He shrugged. “Isn’t much sense in going anywhere else – not like I’m fancy enough for Orlais. Don’t expect I’ll find many looking for arms and armor these days, but a man’s due to retire sometime, isn’t he?”

“Aye, but I can’t see you retiring Harritt—“

“—shouldn’t say retiring. More like…puttering, I suppose.” Harritt laughed. “Dagna’s shown me a few tricks, might very well see if I can talk her into going with, teach me a few more. Clever little thing. And if they let me take the equip—“

“Crows, the both of you – Inquisition ain’t dead and you’re already pickin’ at the bones like a couple of scavengers!” Liza tossed her hair, setting two more tankards of ale on the table with a thump. “Ever occur to you maybe they’ll come right back with more to do? After all, the Divine’s in the Inquisition’s pocket—“

“—more like the Inquisition’s in the Divine’s pocket—“

She stuck out her tongue, screwing her face up in an expression both disagreeable and pretty in equal measure. “Don’t matter who’s in who’s pockets, point is, Divine wouldn’t _be_ Divine without the Inquisition, Inquisition wouldn’t even _be_ an Inquisition without the Divine, so can’t have one without the other, can you?”

“All right, all right, enough of that – what about you then, Liza? ‘spect you’ll be following after Eddard once it’s all over?” Dennet grinned.

She pinned him with a particularly saucy glare. “Follow after him! _If_ it’s over, and if anything at all, _he’ll_ be the one following _me_ , see if he doesn’t. Like a puppy, that one.” Liza sniffed, taking the empty tankards from the table and continuing on her rounds.

“She’s right though.” Harritt lifted his drink in an offhand toast to the horsemaster, grinning over the rim of the tankard.

“What do you mean?” Dennet asked.

“Can’t have one without the other. Divine or Inquisition, expect we’ll have both or neither, when all this is through. I tell you what though, I’ve spent a lot of time talking to the Inquisitor, and he’s not the kind of man to just roll over and give up when the going gets bad. Doubt he’ll let this end without a fight.”

“Ah, but the fighting’s got to end eventually, hasn’t it?” The horsemaster propped his boots on the table with a sigh, suddenly weary. “I don’t know about the Inquisitor, but any normal man gets tired. I get tired. I get damn tired. Followed him all the way here but…I don’t think I can follow him forever. Elaina’d have my head, for starters. ”

“And Cabot will have _your_ head if you don’t move your feet from the table Master Dennet, and you as well, Harritt, go on then.” Lily waved a hand until the offending feet were dropped once more to the floor, replacing them with a basket of warm bread.

“Speaking of tired,” Dennet drawled, but gave her a smile regardless. “Lily, busy as always?”

She nodded, heading to the next table, but favored him a glance over her shoulder. “How is William? I’ve an apple or two for him when I’ve time to head over—“

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that. Great giant lump of a beast.” He picked up a chunk of bread, chewing with obvious approval, and all the while Harritt watched her with a curious expression on his face.

“What about your friend Lily? Young Billy. You think he’ll want work once the Inquisition is through?”

“Really, Harritt, you ought to ask him, I don’t speak for him. But I think he’d be pleased if you had something for him to do. Nothing left in Kirkwall for him anyway.” Lily’s brow twisted for a moment before fading to her usual agreeable expression as she dropped off the last basket of bread and headed back to the kitchen.

“Kirkwall. You ever been to Kirkwall, Dennet?”

“No. Heard stories, though. Seanna’s read that book, what’s it called, Tethras wrote it—“

“—The Tale of the Champion,” Lily helpfully filled in, running a finger over the bar and frowning. “Cabot, this is _filthy_ —“

“—maybe I _like_ filth,” The dwarf replied, back to the bar and thoroughly invested in counting bottles.

“—maybe your customers _don’t_. I’ll just clean this off. Where’s Elspeth today then?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Tale of the Champion, that’s the one!” Dennet nodded at Harritt. “Seanna went on and on about it. Nasty business, Kirkwall.”

Harritt nodded in agreement. “Right. No place for a lad. Ought to take him under my wing. Teach him some proper smithing. He won’t learn anything from the men over in the armory, good as they are. Needs an expert.”

“I thought you were retiring?”

“Puttering,” Harritt firmly corrected.

“Elspeth’s going to be late, I told you already Cabot,” Liza sniffed. “Said she wasn’t feeling well this morning, not that you were listening, what are you doing over there—“

“—inventory.”

Liza set a stack of dirty tankards on the bar, settling on one of the stools and stretching her feet. “And what about you, Cabot? Are you going to open another tavern somewhere?”

“Why? You looking for another job?” The dwarf glanced at her suspiciously.

“I’m just curious, ain’t nothing wrong with curiosity.”

“I’ll find people that need a drink.”

As the tavern grew suddenly busier, Liza picked up the tankards, allowing Lily to make a pass at the counter with a rag. “Well I said that already, didn’t I – _where_ , though? Ferelden? Orzammar? Can’t imagine _you_ going to Orlais—“

Cabot crossed his arms, regarding her firmly. “I’ll find people that need a drink,” he repeated slowly, and ducked into the back room without another word, effectively ending the conversation. Liza looked after him, scowling. “Maybe I’ll open my _own_ tavern, see if I don’t.”

“I suspect you’d be quite good at it,” Lily offered.

Liza fluffed her skirts, offering Lily a rare smile. “Why thank you Miss Lily, that’s very kind of you to say – oy! Jim! I see you laughing over there, keep that up and I’ll cut you off see if I don’t—Maker’s sake, what was that?” A crash from upstairs and raucous laughter drew both attention and ire in equal measure, and she was off up the stairs like a gawkish demon, shouting all the way. Lily watched her go, stifling a laugh of her own.

“What about you, Lily?” Dennet called from the corner, his feet back, Lily noted with some dismay, on the table.

“Pardon?”

“Where’re you headed after all this is over? Back to Kirkwall, then?” Lily shook her head, returning her attention to the bar and the ale-soaked wood.

Aside from Varric, there wasn’t really anything in Kirkwall anymore – she’d seen as much when she returned. Nothing there but dust, dirt and memories. Memories of the city as it used to be, memories of a little stall, children’s laughter and the raw, agonized voice of a qunari begging her to leave, scarlet banners torn and tangled at his feet. She shook her head again, trying to clear her head, rubbing at a particular stubborn smudge and trying to ignore the itch at the base of her neck.

Harritt’s laugh barked in sharp relief behind her. “Dennet, you know well as I do where she’ll be going.” Dennet’s laugh answered him, and Lily pinned them both with a sharp glance.

“Oh _do_ you?” She said sweetly, perhaps a little _too_ sweetly, but neither seemed to notice.

Dennet’s eyes twinkled over the rim of his tankard. “You’ll follow your Iron Bull, I suspect,” Harritt drawled, grinning at the way she quickly returned to cleaning.

“He isn’t _my_ Iron Bull,” Lily protested, feeling the beginnings of a heated flush rise to her cheeks, unbidden. “Any more than I’m _his_ Lily. It’s not like that.” Gentle chuckles and knowing glances answered her, and she turned on them both, acutely aware of eyes, several pairs of interested eyes suddenly on her. “It _isn’t_ ,” she repeated firmly.

“Come on Lily love, anyone with working eyes can see it,” Dennett chided, a small, smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth just so. “Plain as day, moment the two of you came back from Kirkwall. No shame in it—“

“—then you aren’t looking properly and I’ll thank you to keep your eyes on your own business,” Lily snapped, suddenly quite fed up with all the glances, chuckling, knowing grins and everything else besides. She hurried back to the kitchen, brushing past Cabot, uncomfortably aware of his eyes on her and the awkward silence that followed her in as she firmly shut the door and everything beyond it out.

She really oughtn’t expect them to understand. To see. It took her time to see it herself, and she, at least, had the vaguest of inklings of what she was looking for.

 

* * *

 

“Bull,” she asked him quietly one evening, a long, chilly evening spent in the comfortable confines of his room upstairs. Repairs had finally been made to the roof, and between the repairs, the extra blankets, and the fireplace, it was cozy enough up there that she was utterly loathe to leave it. But the way he looked at her, the way he held her curled just so against his side indicated he was just as loathe to let her leave. “What does kadan mean? You keep calling me that, but none of the other qunari ever…I mean…I don’t know what it means,” she finished lamely.

He watched her with his one good eye, lost in thought for a good minute or two before he finally answered. “It depends on the person.”

“More than one translation, you mean?” Lily leaned back against his chest, tilting her chin upwards to peer at him upside down, and caught a glimpse of a tired, yet satisfied smile. He shook his head, chuckling.

“The translation is…I think the closest thing would be, ’where the heart lies.’ Something like that. Maybe ‘center of the chest,’ but that’s…a little more literal.” Bull shifted beneath her, sliding one arm behind his head. “For some, it’s a brother, sister, someone you consider family. For others, it’s a person who’s earned the kind of respect they’ll never lose. And then for some people, it means loved one – someone deeply cared about. Like I said, it depends on the person. It varies.”

“What do you mean when _you_ say it?” She asked, uncertain if she really wanted the answer.

He stared at her, momentarily perplexed. “That…doesn’t factor into it at all.”

“But you said it depends on the person—“

“Right,” Bull agreed. “It’s not about the person who calls you that. It’s about who _you_ are. It’s…kind of like a name, but not. It’s…a designation, like any other you earn if you’re a qunari.”

Lily thought about that for a long moment, her eyes darting to the patched ceiling, brow furrowed in faint confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Think about it like this,” Bull began, idly threading a finger through her hair. “You aren’t the only Lily in the world, are you? Somewhere, some other mother thought Lily was a good name. Or someone else thought their friend looked like a Lily, and gave them a nickname, like Varric does. Or maybe someone was good with flowers and planting, and decided they wanted to be called Lily instead of whatever name they had. Maybe there’s even a spy or two out there named Lily, who knows – point is, there’s lots of Lily’s in the world, right?”

“Yes…” Lily hesitantly agreed.

“But _you’re_ the only Lily that’s done what _you’ve_ done. You’re the only Lily that bakes the way you do. You’re the only Lily that sings those particular songs in the morning. The Lily you are is different from every other Lily in the world. And the kadan you are, that’s just as…distinct. Unique. _That’s_ what I mean, when I say it depends on the person.”

“Then…it…doesn’t mean you love me?” The words came out before she could stop them, and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth before any others could escape, embarrassed at the very thought and unwilling to look at him.

Bull barked a laugh. “No, not even a…” His expression softened slightly, a lazy grin curling one corner of his mouth. “Of course I love you, Lily. I love a lot of people. Kadan…it isn’t a pet name like Poofy or Snuggkins or whatever Leliana’s calling her nugs these days. Qunari don’t _do_ names like your people do. It’s not a name at all, it’s something you earn. It’s someone you _are_.”

“Then who am I?” Lily whispered, her eyes darting to the fire, tracing the flames.

“You’re…different than any other kadan I’ve met. And I’ve met a lot of them. Some of them were brothers, like Vasaad.” His expression darkened briefly at a memory he’d thought he left behind, but he continued. “Some of them are friends, good friends, family. Like Krem. Shit, I’ve never said it to his face, but he’s kadan, too. Dorian – I don’t know if you remember him. He was kadan, fire and sparks and determination. The Inquisitor is kadan, because he’s special, and strong, and I don’t think I’ve ever met a man as strong. And you…you’re the closest to that translation, I think.”

Lily blinked, craning her neck to peer up at him, perplexed. “What do you mean?”

Bull watched her thoughtfully, choosing his words with care. “The Chargers, Krem – they gave me knowledge, they still give me knowledge, every day. They showed me that life outside the Qun isn’t necessarily the chaotic mess that the Qun says it is. That that chaos can be handled, contained, navigated in a way I’d never even _imagined_ was possible. That the world doesn’t end, beyond the reach of the Qun. It just…adapts, like a warrior on the battlefield. You never know what’s coming on the battlefield, you just prepare yourself for the possibilities. To the Chargers…that’s _life_. And it’s beautiful.”

“Dorian…” Bull smiled, a fond glitter in his eye. “Dorian gave me passion. Not the kind between the sheets – I mean, he gave me that too, but that’s different – I mean the kind that just…sears your blood and sets you on fire. He let it drive him, but he never let it consume him. And he was a mage – one wrong step and it would have. He was never bas saarebas – dangerous thing – he was…more. Dangerous, shit yes he was dangerous, but he understood that. He understood himself; he understood the importance of control. Shit, I had to fight with him to get him to let go even a little. He was a beautiful, deadly, living weapon. The thing about weapons, though, is that by themselves, they just sit there. They need to be wielded. Guided into action. Dorian had all the potential in the world, he just didn’t…quite…understand where to direct it. So I showed him. I wielded him.” Bull grinned. “I _like_ weapons. He was the finest I’ve ever wielded. I miss him.”

“And then there’s the Inquisitor.” The name no sooner left Bull’s lips than he fell suddenly still, his tone shifting from jovial to quiet in the span of seconds. “He…set me free, in a way. I couldn’t make the choice myself, and he made it for me. And once he made it, he could have just walked away, let me sit in that tavern and rot, but he kept right on coming back.” The ornate patch over his eye glinted in the firelight. “He gave me purpose in the world, when I thought I had none. He didn’t understand what I lost. He _couldn’t_. But he made sure I had plenty of things to fill the void. Because he _cared_. That’s just the kind of man the Inquisitor is. To the qunari, I was just a tool, one that was designed to fulfill a purpose. To him…”

“…you’re the Iron Bull,” she said quietly. Bull nodded. “Did you think you were no one?”

Bull nodded again, a brief flash of pain lancing his eye. “Without the Qun…”

“The meadows grow green and verdant to feed the deer, the earth is solid and strong to shelter the locusts, the nest is built to raise the young; but home is the winds, the sky, and the world,” Lily quoted, her eyes darting back to the fire. “The qunari, they…they were the meadow, the earth, the nest, but the Qun…”

There was a flash of memory, dark eyes that bore into hers, a velvet voice that spoke with utter certainty, each word pronounced and distinct, “ _The statue resists the ebb and flow of the sea, and is whittled away with each wave. It protests the setting sun, and its face is burned looking upon it. It does not know itself_.”

For just a moment, it was there in front of her, laid bare and whole, painful to look at, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away. “It…it’s…it’s all connected, isn’t it? I wish…”

She started at the soft touch of fingers idly stroking her hair, a gentle brush that smoothed away the unsettling, crawling sensation at the back of her neck. “That’s why you’re different,” he said softly. “You don’t give me anything new. You just _are_.”

“I don’t understand.” It seemed more often than not that those words left her lips. At one point in her life, she might have been embarrassed at the general lack of knowledge and what people would think, but Bull never looked at her that way. He simply explained until she understood. She wasn’t quite sure where he’d gotten the boundless patience that seemed to lie just beneath his skin, underneath the fierce and unrelenting warrior he presented himself as, but she appreciated it. And, Lily suspected, had it not been there beneath it all, he never would have taken her on that journey in the first place.

His fingers continued to smooth her hair, wordlessly settling her thoughts and reassuring her as he explained. “Tama once told me we’re all the Qun. Sometimes I wonder what that means, sometimes I just know. With you, I know, because you’re the Qun just as much as any qunari I’ve met.”

“But they didn’t—“

“Shh,” he shushed, and she fell silent, frustrated but keenly aware that this was one of those circumstances in which she should perhaps save her questions for later. “You know who you are. You know your place in the world. You found it all by yourself; you didn’t need to be guided to it. That…doesn’t happen often, with people that aren’t qunari. You remember I told you that the qunari want to spread the Qun to those that need it? You…didn’t need it. Or maybe you did, I didn’t know you back then, after all. You caught the attention of the qunari for a reason, Lily. I’m guessing it was because in that city, you were one of a few that seemed to understand.”

“Understand what?” Lily asked, unable to stop the question. But his eye was kind when she glanced up at him in abashed apology.

“The Qun. Without knowing what it was. You just needed to be guided to it.” He snorted, waving away her startled eyes. “Look, I’m getting…we can save that for another time, all right? The thing is, if I’m having a bad day, you _know_. If you’re having a bad day, _I_ know. You just…understand. You don’t even know you do. That thing you look for, it’s the thing I had to leave behind. And you’re still looking for it.”

“You’re looking for it too,” she softly replied.

“I am. I don’t think I’ll ever stop looking. Neither will you. We _can't_. And in that way, we’re the same.”

“Two pieces– “

Bull shook his head. “No. Not two. One. Maybe we got busted up a little, like that bowl you found in Kirkwall. We’ll never _be_ a bowl again. But I’m…you. You’re me. We’re both in the same space in the world. We just came at it from opposite sides. You’re…my heart. _Kadan_.”

It wasn’t an explanation, exactly. But it was enough.

* * *

 

 “It isn’t like that,” Lily repeated to no one at all, dusting off her apron, setting her shoulders and getting back to work. From beyond the door, the noise in the tavern had once again started up loud and lively, going about the business of moving on whether Lily liked it or not.

It wasn’t until late that evening that anyone aside from Liza or the other girls dared come back to the kitchen. Visitors weren’t exactly unheard of, but never really for her – usually it was just Eddard looking for Liza, or sometimes Helena asking for recipes.

“Um…hello?” The voice that called was uncharacteristically timid, as was Dagna’s stance. The dwarf usually exuded confidence and cheer in equal measure, but framed as she was in the doorway she reflected anything but, her stance a little awkward as she twisted her fingers together, peering about the kitchen with none of her usual self-assuredness.

Lily put the last of the bowls away, brushing flour from her skirts and giving Dagna the kindest of smiles. “Miss Dagna! Goodness, you’re far from the foundry. I’ve a few leftover cakes if you’d like one?” she offered, and was pleased to see the dwarf relax just a fraction and nod, settling herself on a stool, elbows on the table and momentarily heedless of anything but the cake. “I…I have something to ask you. You don’t have to, I mean if you’re busy – well I guess you’re probably always busy but—“ She stammered, glancing up to meet Lily’s encouraging smile and continuing on. “Do you remember when Sera asked you to teach us how to make cookies?”

“Of course I do,” Lily agreed.

The dwarf eyed the ceiling and kicked the table shyly. “I know she never, well _we_ never, I mean we were busy. But she went with all of them to the Council, and I thought…well, I thought maybe you could teach…me? And I could make some for her. When she comes back. As a surprise?”

“Oh Dagna, that would be _lovely_.” Lily beamed, her nose crinkling with delight. “But it’s a bit late tonight – do you want to come by tomorrow?”

“You will? I mean you don’t mind? I mean, yes, tomorrow’s great!” Dagna perked up, smiling with her far more customary cheer. “Nobody’s really asking for weapons right now with everyone gone and the foundry’s kind of empty most days, Harritt’s been so gloomy. And the Inquisitor isn’t around, so I don’t even have any new materials to work with and I’m _bored_ , and I’m _never_ bored. Ever! But I thought if I could figure out the thematic elements of rune etching and magic theory and elemental…well maybe making cookies won’t be that hard, right? I’ll come by tomorrow. In the morning! Unless the afternoon’s better. Is the afternoon better?”

Lily locked up the kitchen, gently ushering the dwarf out of the bar as she chattered on, waving goodbye with a promise to meet the next day and making her way back to her room. Settling into bed, she reached for Varric’s book, determined to make more progress than a chapter, but found herself dropping off to sleep before she’d finished more than a paragraph.

And had Lily actually spared some time to glance out the window before falling asleep, she might have wondered at the movement in the courtyard below, curious about why anyone would be delivering casks this late, let alone why the Inquisition would need so many when almost all the very important people were away at the Council.


End file.
